


Inconspicuous

by desrouleaux



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Oneshot, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desrouleaux/pseuds/desrouleaux
Summary: After you join the Van der Linde gang, you get to know each of its members on a different level.





	Inconspicuous

**Author's Note:**

> ***I don’t know what this is supposed to be; I just felt like writing something for my gentle man Charles Smith 💕 and I didn’t want to give this too much background or anything like that. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. Not my best work, but eh, I’ve tried 🤷🏻♀️ Maybe I’ll write more with Charles if you’d like that. Cheers ❤***

**Dutch van der Linde** was described as a murderous gang leader, sly and sharp witted, confident and imperious. No one ever mentioned that he saw his gang members as his family; no one ever mentioned that he was actually good-hearted and kind, caring even.

But you experienced it first had as he took you in without much question; he could read in your eyes that you went through hell and back, twice probably. He introduced you to his gang and you were welcomed, warm and friendly, by most at least.

 **Miss Grimshaw** took you under her wing and soon you made new friends, the first ones in your life to be quite honest. **Karen, Tilly and Mary-Beth** soon became something like sisters to you; something you had always wanted as you hand grown up.

Your mother had died after giving birth to you, leaving you with only your older brother and father in a world where women had little to no rights; little to no voice to speak for themselves. And even if you did, no one ever listened to you anyway. So you accepted it when your alcoholic father sold you to the rich plantation owner when you were barely 12 , because you had to.

You looked up to **Miss Molly O’Shea** , her beauty and confidence. You somehow understood why Dutch fancied her. Sometimes you wanted to be like her; wear these kind of dresses and make-up, but you thought it would look odd on you anyway.

 **Lenny Summers** was one of the first men to approach you; a smile on his face and a kind greeting on his lips. He introduced himself to you, but left you enough space to feel comfortable and he sat with you for sometime until **Mister Pearson** called out for him and his help. You liked Lenny, he showed you that there were actually good men out there, even if you hadn’t met many of them in your young life. He usually sat with you for dinner and you were surprised by his talent to cheer you up and make you laugh.

You weren’t used to the sound of your own laughter, but you had sure laughed a lot more since you joined the gang. You were afraid to admit it; afraid that it would quickly change or turn out to be just a mere dream fantasy of yours, but you were genuinely happy.

The moments you felt the happiest were those nights were everyone would sit and gather around the big campfire. Everyone would drink and dance, share stories and roar with laughter, carefree and bold.

The first time **Javier Escuella** hauled out his guitar in one of those nights you were amazed. You didn’t expect a man like him to have such a soft voice and skilled, gentle fingers plucking the guitar strings professionally. Whenever he sung a Spanish song you couldn’t help but melt away into a puddle of adoration, and whenever he winked at you because he noticed, you blushed and tried to hide your embarrassment by burying your nose into the book which usually lay in your lab.

Sometimes **Micah Bell** would call you out in situations like these; quite often actually. Somehow he liked to humiliate and talk down to you. However, he had tried to flirt with you on more than one occasion whenever he caught you by yourself, sometimes a little off the camp side. You decided to never be alone again, because you feared Micah. To you he was unpredictable and mean-spirited. **Bill Williamson** wasn’t as bad as him, but still someone you tried to keep your distance from. You had met lots of men like them in your life and you had gotten good at reading them; now you were working on avoiding them at all cost.

One morning, when everyone else was still asleep after a night of heavy drinking, Micah had caught you off guard while you took the chance to clean some of your clothes. He cornered you and you still remember how scared you were, but luckily **Arthur Morgan** stepped in before anything bad happened and you were sure he had just saved you.

Arthur was a troubled man, you knew. He was riddled with issues and plagued by low self-esteem,  self-hate, and yet he still managed to be nice and respectful towards you. You liked him a lot and often sat with him while he scribbled in his journal as you simply let your thoughts wander.

Sometimes little **Jack** would randomly run up to you with a simple question or a small request like taking a walk around camp or plucking the most beautiful flowers for his mother, **Abigail**. He was a cute kid and so well behaved. Jack gave you hope and whenever he hugged his mother your heart seemed to burst with joy and wishfulness; there was a part of you who wished to have this too.

Except in your imagination a father played a bigger role than **John Marston** did in Abigail’s reality. You somehow felt bad for her, however you were also proud since she seemed to handle herself and Jack well. She was a strong woman, something you aspired to be too someday.

Then there was someone around camp who almost seemed invisible, although the time you had glanced upon him for the first time it had nearly taken your breath away. You had avoided your gaze from that point and whenever he seemed too close, you moved to another spot. You didn’t understand yourself or your behavior, but you were scared of your own feelings.

There was just something about **Charles Smith** that made your heart skip a beat whenever you heard his voice; whether he softly spoke to his mount Taima, joked around with someone (even if that was a rare occasion) or simply chatted away with someone nonchalantly.

From what you had seen, Charles was the only member of the gang who managed to keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. Sometimes he was so quiet, so very calm, that he almost blended in with his surroundings. Given that he was the gangs most skilled hunter, it was no surprise that he was able to do just that. At times you felt someone stare at you and you were more than baffled when you realized it was him staring.

Your first true interaction happened one noonday when you found yourself helping Pearson do inventory of all supplies. Without comment, Charles had walked up to you and thrust a small leather-bound book into your hand, similar to Arthur’s journal. As he walked away at a smart pace, you opened the first pages just to find a single pressed daisy between them. It was the day you started to journalize your new life.

For days on you tried to think of a way to thank him for his gift, only to give up at some point. You were too shy to simply walk up to him and strike up a conversation; you were too insecure to even think that this man could be interested in you – and yet…

Charles kept watching you and you soon realized that he was never too far away from you. It seemed like Micah even kept his distance from you now, as if something – happened. The look Charles shot at Micah whenever he got close to you was deadly and intimidating and you imagined that he did that to keep you safe. The sheer thought of that managed to calm you down.

One afternoon he was chopping wood with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and you couldn’t help but admire his appearance. You wanted nothing more than to run your hands through his silky-looking raven hair, feel his muscles flex beneath your touch as he did his hard work or simply be engulfed in his strong arms as he hugged you tightly.

It somehow became a habit for you two to talk before both of you went to sleep. You usually just asked questions about the arts of hunting and track reading, his opinion about light topics and general nonsense and he answered all of them; never giving you even the slightest impression of annoyance. It seemed like the others wanted to appear as if they were minding their own business even harder as soon as you and Charles sat together. Sometimes someone even left whenever you joined the conversation or Charles walked up to sit with you.

One evening you sat at the campfire, daydreaming by yourself, when you heard the all too familiar footsteps from him approaching you from behind. You couldn’t help but smile at the sheer presence of him. As he sat down right next to you, knees touching, he grabbed your wrist gently. You stared up at him quizzically, however he only stared back. His chestnut-colored eyes burnt into yours as he fumbled with your wrist.

Finally, he held your hand up, urging you to look at his work of art. You looked at it as the soft flickering flames spend its light. It was a thin leather bracelet, now bound around your delicate wrist. You touched the two small colorful feathers, soft and smooth beneath your touch, and you watched the few various beads twinkle in the light.

“Do you like it? Made it myself”, he told you proudly as he watched you inspecting the bracelet.

“I don’t like it”, you breathed and his face dropped a little. You intertwined your fingers with his.

“I love it” You smiled up at him as your heart nearly burst out of your chest. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat nervously before he spoke.

“And I love _you_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot was posted on my Tumblr blog first (:


End file.
